by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
He was 44 years old, an alcoholic, and had just been fired from his job because of his drinking. The Depression was in full tilt. Married, with savings running low, he had to find a way to make a living.
So he decided to become a writer. Ack!
Because of his background in business (he’d been an oil company executive for thirteen years), Raymond Chandler approached his new vocation systematically.
He started with an adult education course called Short Story Writing. He read pulp magazines, especially the famous Black Mask, with an analytical eye on what the writers did in their stories. He would make a detailed synopsis of a story by, say, Erle Stanley Gardner, then rewrite it in his own way, compare it with the original, then rewrite it again. That’s not a bad method for learning the craft.
What he didn’t see a lot of was style, a certain “magic” in the prose. (This reminds me of John D. MacDonald’s goal of “unobtrusive poetry.”)
Thus he began to type on strips of paper half the normal size. This forced him to put down choice words, and if he felt they didn’t work he could toss out the 15 lines or so and start again.
He kept notebooks, jotting down potential titles, story ideas, characters, and his observations of people, especially the clothes they wore and the slang they used.
His writing routine was based on time, not output (he was admittedly slow on the production side). He sat at his typewriter for four hours in the morning, until lunch. If the words didn’t come, he didn’t force the matter. If a writer doesn’t feel like writing, Chandler said, “he shouldn’t try.” (I have to disagree with the master here. But who am I to cavil? In 1939 he published The Big Sleep, got a bunch of Hollywood money, and became famous over time.)
He wrote to please himself and the reader. He once said in a letter, “I have never had any great respect for the ability of editors, publishers, play and picture producers to guess what the public will like. The record is all against them. I have always tried to put myself in the shoes of the ultimate consumer, the reader, and ignore the middleman.”
Of the two writers he was most associated with, he had this to say: “Hammett is all right. I give him everything. There were a lot of things he could not do, but what he did he did superbly. But James Cain—faugh! Everything he touches smells like a billygoat.”
And get this, from a 1947 letter: “I wrote you once in a mood of rough sarcasm that the techniques of fiction had become so highly standardized that one of these days a machine would write novels.”
Ha! (He also said technique alone could never have the “emotional quality” needed for memorable fiction. Looking at you, AI.)
For Chandler, the priority order of fiction factors seems to have been: style, characters, dialogue, scenes, plot. He was not a plotter. Far from it. In a 1951 letter to his agent, Carl Brandt, he wrote: “I am having a hard time finishing the book. Have enough paper written to make it complete, but must do all over again. I just didn’t know where I was going and when I got there I saw that I had come to the wrong place. That’s the hell of being the kind of writer who cannot plan anything, but has to make it up as he goes along and then try to make sense out of it. If you gave me the best plot in the world all worked out I could not write it. It would be dead for me.”
There are definitely plot holes in Chandler, the most (in)famous being who killed the chauffeur in The Big Sleep? When Warner Bros. was doing the movie, they sent a wire to Chandler asking who the murderer was. Chandler replied, “I don’t know.”
But here’s the thing. We remember Chandler, and place him atop the pantheon of hardboiled writers, because of what he emphaszied—his style. I mean, look at some of these gems:
There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Ana’s that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. – “Red Wind”
Bunker Hill is old town, lost town, shabby town, crook town. Once, very long ago, it was the choice residential district of the city, and there are still standing a few of the jigsaw Gothic mansions with wide porches and walls covered with round-end shingles and full corner bay windows with spindle turrets. They are all rooming houses now, their parquetry floors are scratched and worn through the once glossy finish, and the wide sweeping staircases are dark with time and cheap varnish laid on over generations of dirt. In the tall rooms haggard landladies bicker with shifty tenants. On the wide cool front porches, reaching their cracked shoes into the sun, and staring at nothing, sit the old men with faces like lost battles. – The High Window
I lit a cigarette. It tasted like a plumber’s handkerchief. – Farewell, My Lovely
There was a sad fellow over on a bar stool talking to the bartender, who was polishing a glass and listening with that plastic smile people wear when they are trying not to scream. – The Long Goodbye
She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight. – The Little Sister
It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. – Farewell, My Lovely
“I’m an occasional drinker, the kind of guy who goes out for a beer and wakes up in Singapore with a full beard.” – “Spanish Blood”
The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back. – The Long Goodbye
So, my writer friends, what do you think? Is style the secret ingredient over plot and character? We usually talk about the importance of character within a plot, or vice versa. But Chandler worked hard for that “magic” in his prose and, well, his books are still selling!
Style is like salt and pepper, a little bit and turn a plain dish into a delicious dinner. Too much and it is uneatable. However, I never tire of Chandler’s style.
Can not and. Typing isn’t something have mastered yet.
😁
I like the spice metaphor, Brian. Truly can make a delicious difference, as long as we don’t pour in the whole shaker.
My answer is a categorical yes.
I have often raised this very topic here, in the comments section. If the style is pristine, any piece of writing lacking in other areas will be, at the very least, bearable. My all-time favourite novels excel in style, even if they are merely adequate plot-wise. For example, “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt doesn’t boast a plot, not in the classical sense. Yet, it’s a triumph precisely because the prose is of such high calibre. “Atonement” holds one’s undivided attention over 400 pages not because of some burning question but because the sentences, paragraphs, and chapters delight at every turn.
Thanks for those examples, NR.
For me, there also has to be a plot with a character I’m interested in.
I would agree, with a minor caveat. Plotless novels tend to bore me to death. But some kind of miracle happens when the style is so captivating that the absence of a three-act structure becomes secondary, even irrelevant. Mind you, those are the rare, notable exceptions.
As a rule, a structured plot and enticing characters remain essential ingredients, if only because very few writers can hone their style so as to reach the pinnacle where those aspects don’t matter nearly as much.
Agreed.
The bishop quote always makes me laugh.
Style matters.
It’s interesting how authors seem to sort themselves into style or plot. Robin Cook, to me, has no style but his plots and sympathetic heroes keep me reading everything he writes.
It’s been a long time since I’ve read Cook. Plot and character can carry a novel a long way….but maybe not all the way to unforgettable.
Random thought – could this have anything to do with why the Edgar finalists (as mentioned in Kris’s recent post) were selected?
That’s a good thought, Terry. As I mentioned in the comments to Kris’ post, that’s what “upmarket” fiction deigns to be: commercial plot with literary style. When a book like that hits (e.g., Gone Girl), it hits big.
Yours, James Scott Bell, is precisely why you are my favorite author. Your characters, dialogue, scenes, and plots aren’t too shabby either.
Keep writing and I’ll keep reading, my good fellow.
Oh my, Dean, that is so nice of you to say. Thank you! You made my day. I’ll keep seizing the keyboard for sure. Carpe Typem!
I wouldn’t say style supersedes plot and characters. Ideally, they should go hand-in-hand.
Love these lines!
It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. – Farewell, My Lovely
“I’m an occasional drinker, the kind of guy who goes out for a beer and wakes up in Singapore with a full beard.” – “Spanish Blood”
The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back. – The Long Goodbye
They paint the perfect mental image.
Chandler made it look easy, but it was a lot of writing and re-writing.
Plot and character are the cake. Style is the icing. You have to have a good cake to layer on the icing appropriately.
I like desserts. And I like my icing thick.
A very stylish metaphor indeed, Steve! And now I’m hungry.
Chandler remains my all-time favorite author and biggest influence. His writing IS magic.
A lot of Chandler’s style comes through his first-person character’s voice. Does that mean character is the driving force behind the style?
Thanks, Jim, for highlighting this great author.
To break it all down, Debbie, I think the “driving force” of a good novel is plot being thrown at a character (to reveal the true character) and told with a bit of magic in the prose and dialogue. Chandler did all of that.
Love this, Jim! You have made Chandler’s case about style with this post.
I like these:
“. . . sit the old men with faces like lost battles.” – The High Window
(This reminds me of some of the guys who live in my dad’s facility.) 🙁
“. . . and listening with that plastic smile people wear when they are trying not to scream.” – The Long Goodbye
(Unfortunately, I’ve seen that plastic on the faces of folks I’m talking to . . . a reminder to me to keep it short.)
I want to be like Chandler when I grow up.
🙂
Ha, as do we all, Deb. 😁
I like the spice metaphor for style, or Steve’s icing on the cake. A little goes a long way, otherwise it draws too much attention to itself. Style works best when it’s part of a distinctive, compelling voice. For me, voice is the secret ingredient. Your own book on voice is an excellent guide for writers to improve their grasp on that elusive quality.
Chandler had terrific style, his books also had the magic of a strong voice.
Thanks for the mention of Voice, Dale. I call it “the secret power.” Chandler and MacDonald called it “magic.” Spice, frosting…it all works.
I love the quotes you selected, Jim. They truly are gems.
I couldn’t help but compare Chandler to Agatha Christie. I think we read Christie to try and put the puzzle together. We read Chandler to look at how beautiful each puzzle piece is, even if they don’t exactly fit together.
If one tried to create an Agatha Chandler, it might be too many strong spices — excellent when taken individually, but together, they would spoil the stew.
It’s funny. Chandler was not a Christie fan. He did not like cleverly constructed mysteries that were not realistic about crime and murderers. Of And Then There Were None he wrote that it was “as complete and shamless a bamboozling of the reader was ever perpetrated. ” 🥴
Chandler says that as if it’s a bad thing.
Yes, Christie bamboozled us, but she did it fairly, from what I can remember from the book and the movie.
Your post has me questioning the balance between quality and quantity. Perhaps we need to focus more hours on our quality of our work rather than trying to produce as much as possible—given the increasing number of novels being released each year (and the expected rise in production because of AI), perhaps we should prioritize a daily editing regime and rewriting of prose. Just something about your POV today also has me considering whether I need to set guidelines for producing multiple drafts of my work in progress (at least 2 to 3) before advancing. Maybe is Raymond Chandler was alive today he would devise a strategy in this manner?
Right on, Ben. My long practice has been to edit the previoius day’s writing only, then move on. It’s time well spent, IMO.
Style was his strength so Chandler went with that. It happened to work well with noir, and the period he was writing in. Today, I imagine an editor would roll their eyes and send him a standard rejection letter.
After film beauty Marilyn Monroe was dressed for going out and finished with her makeup, she’d study herself in a full length mirror, then turn her back and glance back at herself. Whatever element of her makeup jumped out at her, she’d make less noticeable. She’d do this until she had a complete look.
I’ve always thought this story is an excellent metaphor for writing genre fiction. Anything like overwriting, fancy words, and moments of being too clever need to be toned down.
That doesn’t mean that a viewpoint character can’t be clever or use an occasional big word if it fits his personality, but it should be the viewpoint character, not the author.
A Marilyn Monroe metaphor. I like it.
Just an aside: She was an excellent comedic actress (The Seven Year Itch; Some Like it Hot), but her life was tragedy. Very sad.
For me I want style to emerge naturally as my writing grows–it’s not a focus. As I think someone mentioned above in the comments, sometimes when people focus too much intentionality on style, it draws too much attention to itself but not in a good way.
Exactly BK. That’s why the goal is “unobtrusive poetry.” For me, at least.
I like today’s cooking metaphors, and agree that style is the icing on the cake. But too much style and not enough plot substance, and the confection is half-baked. Another fine stylist is Charlaine Harris. Her Southern vampire series became the TV series “TrueBlood.” Here’s Charlaine’s description of Sookie Stackhouse’s great-grandfather:
“The fine cobweb of wrinkles did not in any way detract from his beauty; he was like very old silk or a crackled painting by an old master.”
Yeah, that’s good.
Brilliant post, Jim. Had to think about this for a while but I end up with only one way to answer your question:
Plot might keep me reading. For a while. Maybe to the end of a book. But style is what makes me want to come back, again and again. Even to the same book.
Right on, Kris. And to find other books by the same author.
The opening of Red Wind is superb. Anyone who has lived in the area and experienced the Santa Anas gets it.
Having said that, living in the LA area when he did could not have been a better place for material. It may not be fiction, but I reckon my favorite book in the area’s interwar period is The Great Los Angeles Swindle by Jules Tygiel. Highly recommended story about Julian Pete.
It sounds quirky but as a visually oriented person his writing reminds me of Robert Frank’s photography. They’re connected somehow.
Thanks for the recommendation, Robert.
Style and voice are the difference. If you can read something over and over, if you can WATCH something over and over, that’s why.
Everyone has their favorites, the ones they’re willing to do again almost any time – and it’s never the pedestrian ones, written with the first thing that came out of the mind of the writer rushing to get out daily words for a count.
With practice, it does get easier – almost everything out of some pens/fingers on the first creation is NOT ordinary, because the brain creating them is paying attention, and hates writing cliches. But almost every cliche has a fresher zinger version – and it doesn’t have to wait for revision if the guiding brain – which is faster even than good typists – seizes the opportunity AS IT HAPPENS.
You re-watch Justified, Firefly, or LadyHawke because the language is so well done it hits just as hard the next time. For the same reason, you re-read a favorite – because you can’t possibly remember exactly how all the good parts are written.
I think that Story (of which Character and Plot are elements) and Style are separate enough concepts that it might be a bit like comparing a vanilla wafer to an angler fish if you’re trying to decide which one is more important in the cosmic scheme. You can tell a Story with any number of stylistic flavors to it, and the Story itself can be completely relayed. Style though really needs the Story to be a vehicle for it to be delivered to the audience. So, I suppose the Story is more important from a stance of you can’t have Style without the vehicle of delivery. By the same token though, the most elevated aspects of Story whereby an audience is able to bridge the gap between a narrative and how that narrative applies to them and their reality, that relies greatly if not totally on Style for its delivery. And a Story told with novel Style is a heckuva a lot more entertaining, even if it isn’t world changing, lol. I guess in the end, then, I land somewhere on the side of Story is more necessary than Style in order to have a completed narrative, but you need Style to complete the circuit with your reader and provide a piece that they can see the worth in along with you. Or something like that. Fun question to ponder, thank you for sharing! Hope you have an awesome week!